


For The Sake of Peace

by neichan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe, First Time, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-02
Updated: 2005-11-02
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: A treaty is signed, a marriage bound.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Eomer had met but one elf in person before the warriors came to Helm's Deep. And that one had been Prince Legolas Greenleaf, though he had not had any idea about the title when they first met on the plain. When Legolas had put knocked bow to his direction and threatened him if he would offer harm to a dwarf.

 

Legolas was tall and slender, an inch or so above the horselord's height, yet so slim as to appear smaller, slight and graceful, almost feminine in his pale beauty. For all his good looks, he had never turned Eomer's head. Eomer tended to find softer, curvier flesh more to his taste.

 

So, at the Helm's Deep when he met the elven archers and warriors, he had not expected their sheer size, or the difference in their demeanors. Their serious mien. At the time he had not known of the division between the elves of Mirkwood and Lothlorien, and that one treated with Men and the other did not. That one was so out-sized, while the other was not. That he himself would be dwarfed by the elves of Lothlorien, well out sized, out muscled, nearly out skilled as a warrior.

 

The leader, the one they called the Marchwarden, Haldir of Lothlorien, he was taller than Eomer by at least a head, and though his height made him seem less so, he was heavily muscled, a thing seen when he washed in the bathing rooms. Muscle so wonderfully, exquisitely formed, and so much of it. He turned sideways to enter the narrow door of the taverns, else his shoulders would brush the sides of the doorway. The presence of the haughty, beautiful man was stunning. His beauty, for he was beautiful, was pure masculine perfection. Regal. Eomer was captivated, though he strove to hide it, and must have succeeded, as none commented on it to him. Not even his most observant kinswoman, Eowyn.

 

Eomer, a lover of many women, was overwhelmed by a male for the first time. He could not draw his eyes away from the elf for long. No matter what distracted him, talk of ruling matters, or discussions of war and strategy, or even the care and breeding of Rohan's fine steeds, he found his attention drawn back to Haldir when he'd solved the many crises, and answered the hundred requisite questions.

 

It was later, not at Helm's Deep, but back in the Mark, when Eomer's life was altered, taking a direction he had never anticipated or could have imagined. It began in the month after the last, most horribly costly victory, when Sauron's forces fell in the final, desperate battle and the world of Middle Earth struggled to cope with peace. Peace, it seemed, was as difficult to master as was war.

 

Theoden, his king, called him into the Council's Chambers. The look in his eyes was sad, and his face, oddly set. Eomer felt his hackles rising, as if a dog scenting trouble. he put a hand to his belt, next to his knife, by pure instinct. He waited next to his uncle, waiting to learn the thing that gave his king the look he wore. It was not long coming. Then, childishly, he wished for his ignorance to return.

 

"You must do a thing for Rohan." Theoden said at last, as if choosing his words with deliberate, painful care. "You must give up the position as heir to the throne, and let your sister's husband rule here. There is a task that I must require of you, if you can bear it. I would not see you die of it, or be filled with hate and resentment for me, yet, it is necessary and urgent that it be done for the sake of this fragile new peace. I must ask, will you let your self be bound to an elf?"

 

Eomer thought on that. To give up the weight of future kingship. Not so hard to do. To leave the Mark...that brought pain to his heart. The open plains, the horses, the riders, his companions since he was a child. The kindly king, his uncle. The sweet, fierceness of his dear sister, to give all this up? To what purpose? To bind to an elf? If he must. With great sorrow would he obey.

 

Eomer blanched. And answered his king, trying to keep his tone light, not to visit his loss on this man already bent with the weight of his many responsibilities. "I...I will do what I may to save Rohan suffering, for she has suffered much. But, I do not understand what is this that makes you beg my forgiveness. To marry an elf maiden is not to suffer too greatly for their beauty is legend. Though to leave Rohan would pain me all my remaining days for I love this land, and her people."

 

"To bind for a treaty, my dearest Eomer, they do not offer a maid. They offer the hand of the Marchwarden of Lothorien, Haldir. He whom you have met. Who fought by our side at Helm's Deep, who's elven warriors helped turn the tide. They offer warrior to bind, not maid. Thus my fear and sadness for you. It is their custom, to marry male to male for such as this. I tried to change that one requirement, but their traditions are older even than ours. They offer Lord Haldir. And they agree to bind him with you in the interest of peace between our people. If you are agreed. Or the treaty is not enjoined, and we have no agreement with them."

 

"I would not deny Rohan peace, to cushion my own pride, weaknesses and fears. I accept the bargain of the elves of Lothlorien, bitter though it is on my tongue." Eomer raised his head high, his dark eyes intent, his mouth in a grim line. "I will do this for Rohan."

 

"You agree to surrender to your bonded husband?" Theoden pressed, his lined face old with the pain of the asking.

 

"If it must be so," Eomer flushed brick red, fury warring with humiliation and embarrassment, of what that implied. It was not done, to arrange a marriage like this. Male to male. Not in Rohan. And all would know, when the Lord Haldir was seen, who submitted to whom. All in Lothlorien would know. All in Rohan would suspect, then know. "I agree, my king. My body and my freedom for Rohan's peace."

 

 

The ceremony was held in the Elvish tongue, in the woods of Lorien. No translator was given to him. Eomer understood none of it, only the recitation of his name and the name of his husband. A long name, with too many titles, if he was not mistaken. Far longer than his own. And he stood in a group, three elves around him, all of them so similar. As if they were brothers. And all of them unsmiling when they looked at him. Their eyes dark with unvoiced thoughts he could only guess at. As if they blamed him for this custom of theirs.

 

He was not kissed. The ceremony ended with a thin chain of gold being placed around his neck, three tiny, finely wrought bits of gold dangling from it. He peered at them. They were runes, ones he did not know. Had never seen, elven runes, not the words of Man. Alien to his eye, yet, beautifully carved. Then he was led out of the hall and into a bedroom.

 

He was alone save for an old woman. He stared at her when she began to undress him, pushing her hands away. He had not had another do such for him since he was a boy. He could manage on his own. She eyed him with clear interest, and bowed her old head, pointing to the filmy robes left on the great bed's edge for him to don. And the pan of warm, perfumed water that he was to use first.

 

They came in, not one elf but three, and he knew in a flash of insight, what he had not realized before. It made no sense to him, but he was sure all of them, brothers, were his husbands. All of them, not only one. He did not know why, but he knew it was so. And for the sake of Rohan he could not object.

 

"Will you submit?" The tallest of the three, Haldir asked him, in a language at last that he could understand.

 

"Yes." Eomer answered without qualifiers. He would submit. He was his people's sacrifice.

 

"We do not wed as women and men, one to one. We are not concerned over the parenting and seed from which a child springs. A child is precious in and of itself, not becasue of who parents it. As no child of yours will rise to our throne, there is no need to break our custom. Only for the king is the mother of the child sequestered from all other lovers." The second elf explained. "I am Rumil. Will you submit to me, as your treaty husband?"

 

"Yes." Eomer told this elf as well. His hands trembling.

 

And the last of them stepped near. Long hair caught in thin, exquisitely fine braids to the sides of his face, the rest hanging free. A fall of long, long, pale satin. Golden.

 

"I am Orophin," He said, his tone quiet, carrying, lighter than the other's voices. "Will you submit your body to me, husband?"

 

"Yes." Eomer said, his fisted hand hidden in his nearly sheer, flowing robes. He raised his eyes, looking from face to face, to all of them, all taller than he, all larger, all unsmiling. All to bed him, to remove his innocence in this one remaining way. "I will submit."


	2. Part 2

^^^^^^

 

Eomer suppressed the instinct to flinch away from the large elves who came nearer to him, so tall, angling their approach to trap him between them, the move of males long bred to war and fighting. A move perfected by their many years of being together, hunting together, living together. They resembled men, yes, but did not move as men. They were something more primitive, more primal, more instinctual. He had no trouble seeing the ease they had with each other. Eomer, he was the outsider. The one who didn't belong.

 

He lifted his chin, looked into the eyes of the larger one, the tallest one who had fought with the men of Rohan at Helm's Deep. The archer, with the powerful arms and shoulders, the upper body of a master archer. Of one who had pulled a bowstring for centuries. The Elves learned to shoot arrows with either hand, equally well. It balanced them, in a way human archers were not. The elf's eyes met his without flinching, looking deep, pinning him until he had to fight to drop his eyes. He had to fight to submit even this much. When he did, he could feel them looking at him, as if they ran hands over him. His skin shivered with the touch of their gazes.

 

Haldir looked down at the man standing in sheer drapery, like a bride. He was handsome, shaved as he was, his cheeks smooth, his eyes so dark in contrast to his honey blond hair, hair pulled back and wound with fine chains of gold and green forest leaves. He was almost as beautiful as an elf. Not a crude man, not coarse or hairy as some. This one, while a lesser being, was still worth appreciation. His mouth called and begged for worship of a carnal kind. Strongly cut, well made, his mouth and his body, though smaller than most elves of Lothlorien, he had his appeal, he was well able to heat one's blood, just looking at him. There was no reason not to honor him as husband. Haldir slid an arm around his new husband and pulled him near. Feeling the stiffening of the strong body, the fear that the man did not let show.

 

Haldir let his embrace stay loose, not confining, but he did not give it up. He tilted back the man's head to reveal his face. So carefully blank. He looked into the dark eyes and saw the fear in them, the despair. The acceptance of his fate. Haldir did not like the look. He had not spent time with those of the race of Men, until the brave warriors at Helm's Deep. There he had fought against a common enemy, and saw the fighting of the Men around him. Fierce fighting, desperate, and men of honor. He would not have chosen to wed one of that race, nor even to take one to his bed. But, he could not regret that since it had come to pass, that it was this man come to him.

 

Haldir remembered him well. The leader on the battlefield who rode his horse into the fight, screaming defiance of death, dealing great damage to their foes. Fighting with all the mortal heart that he had. How could another warrior not admire that effort, that heart, that will? That raw courage? Together, man and elf, they had won. And that should have been the end of it. Haldir should have returned to his position of Marchwarden, and his life returned to it's former peace and isolation save for his brother's company.

 

But those who wielded power were never content. They wanted treaties of peace and promises. They wanted weddings and bondings. They meddled in lives that should have been left well enough alone, lives that needed to heal away from treaties and royal orders. They wanted sacrifice. And here stood Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin, with the small man between them, a brave man, caught like prey in the web, who politicians and kings had driven to fear, to this bonding, to this soon to be consummated bed. And none of their lives would ever be the same. Haldir felt the tremors in the man. How to comfort one so proud, one who normally offered ease, safety, and comfort to others? Not asking for it, or needing it himself? How could he comfort such a man?

 

Rumil went to the table standing at the side of the great, empty bed, poured from one of the many jugs, wine, a dark red, spilling into a cup. He carried it to their bride-guest, drank from it himself to prove it's safety in the manner of a good host. Then he held it out in both his hands. "Drink from the bounty of our house, Eomer of Rohan, king's nephew. Drink from the fruit of our vines, and join with us, husband. I would not have you fear our bed or our touch."

 

"Drink." Haldir urged, echoing his brother, his arm careful around the strong shoulders of the man. "We would not have this be insufferable for you, Eomer once of Rohan. Drink and let the lassitude spread through your limbs, let yourself relax while we take you to our bed." The man smelled of faint honeysuckle blossoms, and the sweet musk scent of his skin underneath the light scent of the flower. Haldir wondered how long it would be, if ever it would be, before he could close his eyes and lay in serenity and caring with this husband given to his hand. Will he ever willingly seek the bed of Haldir? The elf wondered.

 

"I am not girlchild who needs to be drugged on my wedding night, plied with drink so I do not cry out and flee." Eomer returned tightly, his hand gripping the cup until it nearly cracked. Rumil laid his hands over the one holding the wine. He knelt so the man looked down into his eyes, not up, needing to bend his neck at one who towered over him.

 

"No. You are not. Yet, this is new to you, the coupling of male and male. Drink and be at ease." Rumil said, helping gently lift the rim to Eomer's mouth. "Drink, my husband."

 

"It is the first request I have for my new husband." Rumil murmured, when the man hesitated still. "Let us make this pleasant for you."

 

"Will it only take wine for it to be so?" Eomer murmured looking into the cup. "I do not hold such faith in the vintage I drink at home. For it has failed, in all my years, to bring me to the bed of any male."

 

"Nay. Not merely wine. We will treat you with care as well. I do swear it." Rumil said when Eomer took the first sip of the heady drink. "The wine, though, it will help."

 

"I do not wish to forget what goes on here this night. I do not wish oblivion. I am a man and as such I will not shirk nor shrink from what is required of me. I will submit to you, all my husbands, however you may require it of me." He drank again, at Rumil's urging, their hands still together on the cup.

 

Orophin stepped away once he saw the man begin to swallow. He extinguished the lamps, then opened the drapes that led out into the gardens. The light that came in was silvered with moonglow, filling the large bedchamber with a magical feel. Eomer lowered the cup, empty, and looked around at the change. He blinked. The covers were pulled back from the bed sheets. He swallowed hard seeing that, lifting his eyes to those of the elf how held him most closely.

 

Haldir looked down at the Man, seriously. No smile on his handsome face, nay, more beautiful in it's masculinity than simply handsome. Haldir, his first husband was beautiful. Eomer could hardly deny the truth. But even so, he would not have chosen this, if not for the sake of his people. While he gave these elves his body, and his submission, he did not give them his heart, for that was already given to Rohan.

 

Eomer looked back at the tall, tall elf. How strange it was to be the smallest in the room. He had not had it so since he hit his growth as a youth of sixteen. Now his head lay on the shoulder of a male, reaching no higher, as the wine roared over him with a power no other wine had ever had, overwhelming his senses and with it, weakening his knees. The room spun around him. Elven wine was not the same, he thought, his eyes fluttering, feeling himself swung up into strong arms carried across the floor a few steps.

 

His back hit the softness of the bed. And he felt the bodies of others join him there. His husbands. Those who would soon know his body, deeply and fully. For the sake of this tenuous peace.


End file.
